Chapter Twelve

The evening of the dinner party, Henry stood alone with the duchess in the entrance hall, tall and stiff in his British Cavalry uniform. The duchess had insisted on military dress, despite Isabella’s suggestion. Because Lucy had yet to emerge from her chambers where Miss Barrett worked furiously to prepare her, Henry’s concern for the schedule grew. However, he experienced more worry over Lucy’s readiness for the trial to come.

“Pardon my saying so, Your Grace, but my doubt outruns my optimism. Although your granddaughter has been an apt pupil, I fear the challenge is too great. Gentility is a quality cultivated over years, not days. Perhaps we are unfair to demand a miracle of her.”

The duchess stretched her spine and lifted her chin. “Come, now.” Her tone was comforting yet convicting. “Do not abandon hope. The girl may yet surprise you.”

He smiled wistfully. “That, I know. She has done nothing but surprise me since our first meeting.”

“Regardless, our agreement remains intact. I promised you a substantial sum, and in return, you promised me your best. Thus far, you have met your end of the bargain. I ask that you continue doing so for a few hours more. Her future may lie in the balance tonight.”

The ominous and inviting nature of those last words stoked Henry’s curiosity. He suspected she withheld information of great importance. If he had learned anything from his father, it was never to leave critical words unspoken. “Tell me, then, what lies in the balance this evening? If I am to give my best, then I must know the game. I must know the rules and stakes. All of them.”

Relief brushed her features, confirming that she wished to confide. She glanced up the empty central staircase and leaned toward him. “I invited the heir to the Earl of Uckham, who is just the class of suitor who might court Lucy.”

Henry’s hackles rose. “Lord Warwick? You invited him?”

“Yes.”

He tried to suppress a scowl. “I see.”

The duchess grew a sly smile. “You do not approve?”

“Not particularly. However, as you like, Your Grace.”

“I care little for him as well,” she said, “but I know his father, was certain I could force his son’s attendance, and wish to see how Lucy responds to a potential suitor.”

The mention of a flesh-and-blood suitor stirred inside Henry feelings of protection…and of surprising jealousy. He attempted to appear unaffected. “Does Lord Warwick know of Lucy’s dowry and availability?”

“Not yet. His father’s financial straits are well known. I want Lord Warwick to see Lucy as someone to court and not as a potential windfall.”

Henry struggled to remain stoic. “Does she know he is coming?”

“No. I did not wish to unnerve her.”

A commotion upstairs interrupted his planned protest.

“Wait, my lady! Your gloves! You must not forget your gloves!”

Miss Barrett’s admonition sounded from above, followed by a mumbled complaint from Lucy. A half minute passed before Lucy appeared at the top of the stairs. Henry inhaled a startled breath at what met his eyes. Her dark hair coiled richly atop her head, save a thick strand cascading dangerously over one shoulder. The new dress, light blue and shimmering as if made of water, clung to her slender form. A touch of rouge on her cheeks and lips set into contrast mahogany eyes large with uncertainty. He gaped, as if seeing her for the first time, astonished anew by her beauty. Words of assessment lodged in his throat. True to Lucy’s forward nature, she did not wait for his appraisal.

“Am I remotely presentable or should we begin again?”

The duchess clapped her hands. “Marvelous, my dear! You are the vision of the goddess Aphrodite!”

“More like the goddess Diana, for I am supposed to be on the hunt.” Then she shifted her attention. “Mr. Beaumont? Your opinion?”

He cleared his throat of the words clogging it, and then attempted to underplay his unexpected reaction. “You look very well. Please, harbor no concerns about your appearance.”

She appeared satisfied with his conclusion and began descending the steps rather quickly.

“Slower,” he advised. She paused before gliding downward in her best impression of an ice skater. When she reached the bottom, he added, “Well done.”

When she finally appraised his cavalry uniform, seeming approval lit her face. Of course, she did not admit it. “Where is your wet nurse medal? I have looked forward to learning what manner of medal one receives for excellence in wet nursing. Although, I must admit, I have some preconceived notions as to its shape.”

He continued to stare at her without moving or responding while attempting to quell remarkable sensations of protection, pride, and…longing. The first two he could explain, for she was his pupil. The last one left him bewildered. She misinterpreted his ongoing silence as disapproval. She smoothed her dress nervously and traded the wry smile for a proper expression of grim dismay. She approached him slowly with chin dipped, while cutting her eyes upward through eyelashes that seemed longer than he had noticed before. When he held an elbow for her, she slipped a gloved hand under his arm and gripped it gingerly. He exchanged a wordless glance with her. She seemed as confused as he was.

“You have come not a moment too soon, Lucy,” the duchess said. “I believe Lady Garvey and Lady Barrington have arrived. Take your place over there. You are the hostess and must make an impression.”

She physically shrank from the words, leaning in to Henry. He shot her a smile of encouragement. “Shall we assume our places?”

She stared up at him with uncertainty and nodded. He guided her a few steps to a spot near the door where proper greeting might occur. As the duchess came alongside, Lucy disentangled her hand from his elbow and began to fidget.

“Hands clasped at the waist, Lady Margaret.”

She did as he advised and waited. Moments later, Hawes announced the arrival of the duchess’s longtime friends.

“Lady Garvey. Lady Barrington.”

The older women paraded regally through the doorway with polite nods toward the duchess. Apparently overcome by anxiety, Lucy crowded the guests.

“Your ladyships. The pleasure of your attendance brings me much joy! The duchess speaks fondly of your long friendships and of your families and charitable works.” Henry tugged at Lucy to restrain her rambling greeting, but she seemed not to notice. “And she told me also of your journey together to Bath some years ago, complete with weather travails and spa treatments, and how you helped that poor farmer stranded beside the road, and how his sheep were in such need of a shearing. I feel as if I know you already!”

The guests reacted much as he might have expected, recoiling from the verbal spray with expressions of barely restrained alarm. Lucy finally seemed to notice him tugging her elbow and stepped back with head bowed.

“My apologies, your ladyships. I am too forward and inexperienced by half.”

The duchess intervened before Henry could. “Allow me to apologize on my granddaughter’s behalf. You see, she has spent this past decade in a remote and isolated place, free of training in proper etiquette. She is a babe in the woods in that regard.”

Lady Garvey, a tall silver-haired woman with a severe countenance, nodded. “Of course. We should have prepared our expectations, for you did warn us.”

When Lady Barrington expressed similar understanding, Henry found a slight smile on his face. He sensed the loyalty and empathy the women held just beneath the surface, despite their stoic demeanors.

“As you can see,” the duchess said, “your keen eyes and extensive experience are needed here. As I explained in my letters, we must prepare my granddaughter for the inevitable trials and tribulations of Society. I turn to you, my oldest and dearest friends, in this time of great need.”

The genteel women broke into a chorus of concurrence, offering support for the endeavor. Lady Barrington approached Lucy, who stood in humiliation with head bowed.

“Lady Margaret.” The woman said the name firmly but with a hint of warmth. “You must never drop your eyes to anyone but the immediate royal family. You outrank me by far.”

Henry watched as Lucy raised her eyes slowly to meet those of Lady Barrington. The visitor nodded approval. “See there. Is that not better?”

Lucy nodded uncertainly. “I suppose. You are very considerate of my unusual circumstances.”

Lady Barrington cocked her head toward the duchess with a warm smile. “It is just as you said. She is a lovely girl, certainly tempting to any suitor. And, oh, so fresh.”

As the visitors began to remark on her fine looks, Henry watched the flush climb Lucy’s neck and cheeks. Hearing such praise of the young woman’s beauty swayed him to study her yet again. Thus far, he had seen her as attractive, but mostly as combative, forthright, and openly disdainful of Society rules. In this rare moment of humility, however, her dark eyes and pouting lips drew him like a force of nature, like gravity pulling a falling man. When had this happened? He absently pulled at his collar and intercepted the conversation.

“Mr. Henry Beaumont, at your service.” He bowed to the women. “Perhaps you might offer Lady Margaret sage advice for the guests yet to come.”

Lady Garvey nodded at the suggestion. She peered down at Lucy from her impressive stature. “Dear, with your rank comes the need for reserve. When guests arrive, you must not rush to them for approval. It is they who must come to you and offer respectful gratitude for the honor of calling upon you. Remain as a statue and maintain a cold eye until your guests do so.”

Lucy accepted the advice and further recommendations from Lady Barrington before the women followed the duchess to the parlor. She glanced at Henry as if in apology. He attempted to exude calm as he whispered to her.

“What began roughly ended well. Steady on, Miss Locket. Steady on.”

She glanced up at him with narrowed eyes. “So, now I am Miss Locket?”

“Just between us, yes.”

She smiled and turned toward the door again at the sound of another coach halting on the cobblestone street outside. Seconds later, Hawes called out again.

“Lady Isabella Sedgewick. Miss Braye. Miss Wharton.”

Henry balled his fists at the names. Lady Isabella swept through the door with two other young women in tow. All were possessed of great beauty, bedecked in dresses of finest silk and with matching honey hair formed and constructed for the sole purpose of entangling a man’s attention. He noted how much the presence of such refinement contrasted with Lucy’s plain manner. However, he also noticed with relief that Lucy’s beauty this evening outshone that of the new arrivals.

As he watched, Lucy adopted a facial expression he had seen from her before—one reserved for cardsharps when bluffing—and she appeared to wait for the newcomers to react. Isabella locked eyes with her and paused, entering a contest of wills with the would-be lady. Lucy maintained her stoic and unmoving position for the space of three breaths before Isabella spoke.

“Lady Margaret, is it not customary to show delight at the arrival of guests? You appear as if waiting for Death on his horse.”

Lucy’s focus broke and she glanced furtively at Henry before returning her attention to the guests. “Lady Isabella. How nice of you to come.”

Isabella dropped a hint of a curtsy, and Lucy reciprocated in kind with a slight dip of the chin. Isabella’s accomplices, whom Henry recognized from past events, floated in beside their friend. They curtsied modestly and swept their eyes discriminately over Lucy.

“I should offer congratulations,” said Miss Braye, “for your marvelous dress. The fact that your dressmaker assembled it in only a few days is hardly noticeable, especially in the moderate light of evening.”

Henry saw Lucy’s face fall. “How do you know about that?”

Isabella laughed lightly. “Oh, my dear. Let this be our first lesson for you this evening. The haute ton knows all. The more desperately you hide a secret, the more aggressively Society seeks to expose it. The desire to humiliate is proportional to the magnitude of the potential shame.”

Henry grimaced. He knew this to be true. Miss Wharton cast a conspiratorial eye toward him and stepped nearer to Lucy with a sniff.

“Lady Isabella is quite correct, Lady Margaret. I certainly hope you have nothing to hide. Do you?”

He felt Lucy tensing for an argument.

“Ladies,” he said, “if you please. The duchess waits in the parlor with other great ladies of London. Hawes will lead you there.”

With some reluctance, the younger women followed the butler. As they departed, Lucy leaned toward him to whisper. “How am I to know the proper manner of greeting when one guest contradicts the next? It seems as if there is no correct answer, no appropriate rule.”

“Ah, but you are learning. Society rules are not so much a hedgerow as they are a forest. You must weave your way through the woods without the appearance of avoiding the trees.”

Her expression grew puzzled. “You make no sense, given your incessant drilling on propriety and rigidity. How am I to know what is proper, then, if the rules are so fluid?”

He pondered the question before an idea lit his mind. “When Sir Steadman invited all manner of scoundrels to your home, how did you manage to maintain an upper hand while avoiding their schemes and influences?”

She stared at the floor, deep in thought. Of her many mercurial expressions, he found this one the most intriguing. When she raised her eyes, they sparkled with recognition.

“When new guests arrived, I observed and listened. I attempted to determine their game and how to use it against them.”

Henry smiled more broadly than he intended. “Do that, then. These people are simply scoundrels with titles, money, and airs, but scoundrels nonetheless. They all play games.”

Her face brightened and she clenched her jaw with determination. “I am ready, now. Shall we retire to the parlor?”

“Not yet. We await another.”

She fell silent, perhaps sensing the foreboding of his tone. They waited only briefly before Hawes announced a new guest.

“The Viscount Warwick, heir to the Earl of Uckham.”

She shot a startled glance at him. “Viscount?”

He shushed her with a finger to his lips and motioned toward the door. Warwick entered, his height and athletic build commanding the room immediately. His gaze of nonchalance soon found Lucy, and he dipped his head.

“Lady Margaret, I presume.”

Lucy seemed frozen, so Henry swept a hand toward the newcomer. “Lord Warwick, how long has it been?”

The man appraised him for the space of two heartbeats. “I do not recall. Perhaps three years. What nonsense have you been about since then?”

His question dripped condescension, raising Henry’s pique. “Not much. Gaming, drinking, and ridding the world of Napoleon. What of you, my lord?”

Warwick frowned mildly and swept past them toward the sound of voices. “Perhaps superior company may be found in the parlor.”

Lucy stared at Henry crossly and mouthed the words, “Who is he?”

He wished to blurt the truth that Warwick was a man who might torment her for life. However, he could not muster such cruel words. “Only someone to impress. Just remember, this is merely a game.”

She nodded with an expression that bordered on trust. As he led her to the parlor, his soul shriveled as the weight of duplicity bowed his shoulders.